


Nightmares, She Wrote

by LavernaG



Category: Murder She Wrote
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Friendship, Night, Nightmare, Post-Series, dream - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:14:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23899555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LavernaG/pseuds/LavernaG
Summary: Jessica has a nightmare. Fortunately, there's always someone she can rely upon to comfort her. Post-Series. One-Shot.
Kudos: 5





	Nightmares, She Wrote

**Author's Note:**

> I've been binge watching "Murder, She Wrote" again and in the middle of "Thursday's Child" this idea came to me. It's a little story of Jessica having something of a nightmare. I've mixed in references to "The Last Flight of the Dixie Damsel" and "Thursday's Child", and I guess I sort of borrowed Angela's kids, too.
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and please leave me a comment if you do! :)

"Why, Frank Fletcher," Jessica whispered softly, red as a beet, sheepishly peeking up at the tall boy. "If my papa ever caught you doing that…" Frank gave her a charming little smile and timidly took her hand in his. The touch of his fingers was every bit as gentle as the touch of his lips, as hesitant and warm as the first kiss they'd just shared.

Jessica gazed up into his kind eyes, mesmerized by their blue. She felt as if it had wrapped her in itself, embraced her with a pair of strong arms and held on tight. It was fascinating. She felt safe in those arms that she couldn't see or touch but could somehow sense around herself. Their owner loved her, she knew.

But then she began to feel cold. An icy wind blew against her face and something tugged suddenly at her whole body, yanking her upwards, as if a parachute had opened above her. A distant monotone voice resembling one of a radio reporter reached her, but Jessica couldn't make out a word.

She watched, petrified, as the lines of Frank's face appeared out of the—suddenly dark—surrounding blue. He was crying. Jessica felt a pressure on her right hand and recognized her husband's grip. When his lips moved, the voice came belatedly, in a hoarse whisper, and not from Frank's direction but from all around her all at once. "You are going to be all right." It was all too loud and harsh. It didn't sound like Frank at all. "But our baby is not." Jessica felt a terrible tightness in her chest, a suffocating dread in her heart. She wanted to cry, but the sound that left her mouth instead was a warm chuckle.

She looked to her left and saw a little girl of five squealing happily, reaching out her hand towards her and showing her a colourful butterfly that had landed on her fingers. "Mommy, look!" DeeDee exclaimed. "She likes me!"

Jessica nodded her agreement and continued her work on the flower bed she was kneeling at. The sun was burning her shoulders; the sky was an intense, cloudless blue. Everything felt peaceful. The little white back gate creaked as two men—one tall and handsome, the other one's height barely reaching his waist—walked their bikes into the garden.

"Look, darling! Four whoppers today!" Frank declared as DeeDee ran up to the pair and started making faces at the fish in her brother's bucket. Jessica got up from the grass easily and walked over to caress her little boy's head.

"Tony, be a good boy now, and take the fish inside, all right?" Frank asked as he positioned his bike against the fence and approached his wife.

"Okay, papa!" Tony replied and dashed off towards the house with his sister hot on his heels.

Jessica felt a pair of arms around her, and Frank drew her close to him. He smelled of fish and the sea, of wind and happiness. She felt him nuzzle the side of her neck, and giggled. Frank chuckled against her ear. "This is all I've ever wanted, Jessie. You and the kids. Our perfect home."

A momentary panic seized her when she felt his hold on her loosen. But she relaxed in an instant when she saw their daughter gazing up at them. Frank released one of his girls to pick up the other. DeeDee beamed and threw her arms around Frank's neck. Jessica watched Frank cradle their daughter and agreed—this was, indeed, all they'd ever wished for.

She tried very hard to keep her focus on her family, but the glaring sun above her husband's head blinded her and drowned her in a pool of white. Jessica tried to reach out to them but couldn't catch the image any more. The endless bright emptiness around her began to gradually turn darker, until it became a grim grey. Jessica felt her heart pounding in her chest; it was cold again. An indistinct arched shadow loomed up ahead, reminding her of the gate of the Cabot Cove graveyard.

"Frank?" Jessica breathed, and her soft quivering voice echoed through the darkness around her. She felt an awful certainty that no one would answer. The name repeated itself eerily over and over again. She felt a pained sob climbing up her throat but refused to let it out.

And suddenly his arms were around her again, pressing her against his strong chest, holding her tightly. Jessica sighed into his shoulder, clinging on to him. "You didn't think I'd leave my darling little wife behind like that, did you?" he whispered against her hair. Jessica shook her head. She felt safe in his arms, like nothing could ever harm her; warm like he could drive away all the bitter Maine winters; cherished because she knew there was no one Frank loved more in the world than her. His steady breathing calmed her, his presence brought comfort.

A low, heavily accented voice carried over to her, "There were five men on board that plane at the time it went down. One man was left on board dead." It echoed around her, single words charging at her from different, unexpected directions. Jessica felt irritated with the voice for some odd reason. She frowned when a delicate female voice continued pestering her, "When we were in Korea, your husband and I were more than just friends."

She gasped quietly as she recognized the voice, and looked up at Frank's face. He was watching her with a reassuring smile, but the kind look in his eyes was glassy, frozen with almost crazed persuasion. Jessica stared at him, willing the voices to stop. "There's one and only one inescapable conclusion," the first voice said, "that your husband, Captain Frank Fletcher, is guilty of the murder of Sergeant Peter Gagliano." Slowly Jessica shook her head; Frank's face was unmoving. She was having difficulty comprehending if he was smiling or scowling at her. "Stephen is Frank's son," the female voice stated.

The voices stopped echoing around her; everything became very quiet very suddenly. Jessica held her breath, staring at Frank. After what seemed like an eternity, she gave in and allowed herself to blink. When she saw him again, however, Frank's eyes had grown wide and turned an ugly shade of yellow; his mouth had stretched into a horrible unearthly grin. Jessica shrieked with fright and pressed her hands up against his chest, pushing the figure away from her. She felt its claws rip at her sides as she slid out of its long arms. As the deformed figure of her husband's withdrew into the darkness, Jessica found herself falling into an endless pitch black void.

* * *

Jessica awoke with a loud gasp. Her eyes flew open and immediately recognized the long dim shadows on her bedroom walls and ceiling; her head fell back onto her soft feather pillow. Her heart was thumping painfully in her chest; she felt hot all over. Her left hand reached out, almost as if of its own accord, and felt the flat covers next to her. She was reminded that she was alone—a childless widow.

She could feel tears pricking at her eyes and started blinking rapidly to contain them. She looked to her right, at the telephone on her night stand and wondered briefly what the time could be. Deciding it didn't matter to her anyway, Jessica reached over and picked up the receiver. Without bothering to sit up, she dialled the number she'd known by heart for decades. She brought the receiver close to her ear, and when after a long while someone finally picked up, she whispered, "Seth! Are you asleep?"

The first response she got was a groggy grunt. A moment later the old doctor muttered, "Well, not any more, woman. What are you calling for at this godforsaken hour?"

His familiar crabby tone shattered the last of Jessica's composure and she sobbed into the phone, "I… I need a friend…" She pressed her lips together and felt her chin quivering. The line was silent. A tear escaped the corner of her left eye and rolled into her hair. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, "I-I shouldn't have called."

There was a momentary pregnant pause before Seth replied, completely awake, "Give me five minutes, Jess. I'm coming over."

Jessica sighed happily into the phone, "Thank you, Seth."

* * *

She was barely aware of the insistent knocking on her front door and of the door in question swinging open a moment later. Jessica's eyes were fixed on the plain blue wall of her living room, her thoughts twirling about aimlessly. One moment the blue reminded her of Frank's eyes, then of the sea, then the summer sky and then again a hospital gown. Her always active mind was empty of words, and it was terribly unsettling.

A quiet sound startled her and she turned to look to her left. The door had been closed and there stood this old and grey man, his medical bag at his feet and a frightened look of worry in his magnified glistening eyes. Jessica had never noticed how old they had grown.

There weren't any words exchanged as the old doctor descended the steps into her living room and walked, with his arms held out in front of him, towards Jessica. She hadn't realized she'd been shivering in spite of her warm robe, or that her face was tear-streaked and ever so pale; however, Seth's concerned expression spoke volumes.

Jessica took a single step towards her friend and leaned into his embrace. Unlike the arms she'd dreamt of, Seth's hold was real, tender and comforting; his support unwavering and everlasting. Jessica allowed herself to rest her head against his shoulder and weep. Seth caressed her back gently, with each stroke calming her shudders and with each moment bringing her back from her dreamland.

His voice was ever so soft against her ear when he asked, "Do you want to talk about it?" Jessica shook her head slightly and her fingers curled around his lapels. She didn't know herself why this dream had affected her so. She'd had many nightmares before, some notably more gruesome than this one. And yet it was all she could do not to sob into her friend's jacket how painful her dream had been. Never had it been said that Jessica Fletcher was a frail woman; at times, however, even her resolute disposition could falter.

It was a long while before she finally felt strong enough to emerge from Seth's embrace. She sniffled miserably and the good doctor offered her a handkerchief she'd more than likely left at his house at some previous date. Seth ran his hands down her arms soothingly and told her, "Now, I'll make us some tea, all right? Get you calmed down again."

Clutching at Seth's sleeve, Jessica let herself be led into the kitchen and sat down at the table. She watched Seth bustle about, fussing masterfully with her old kettle and bashfully stealing a chocolate cookie from her cookie jar, and she smiled. "You are an angel, Seth Hazlitt, you know that?" she said softly.

Seth chuckled happily and brought the tea pot over to the table. "I'll tell you what I know, Jess," he replied, sitting down and treating himself to another one of her cookies. "It takes one to know one."

_The End_


End file.
